


Sundays in the Park with Afi

by Fríálfurinn (DangerousCommieSubversive)



Series: The Role-Swap AU [3]
Category: LazyTown
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Family Drama, Gen, Grandparents & Grandchildren, Humor, M/M, Rated for Minor Language, glanni is a wicked old cuss and i love him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-14 01:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9150769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerousCommieSubversive/pseuds/Fr%C3%AD%C3%A1lfurinn
Summary: Sportacus has climbed mountains, wrestled bears, and weathered the fury of Stephanie Meanswell. Robbie Rivet’s been dealing withSportacus’dangerous shenanigans for over a year now. They should be prepared to handle anything, no matter how terrifying it is.And yet.Andyet.There’s being prepared foranything, and then there’s being prepared for the unannounced arrival of your grandfather.





	1. Full of Hot Air

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nico CrystalCaper](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Nico+CrystalCaper).



> So I’m awake in the middle of the night with heartburn and [Nico](http://crystal-caper.tumblr.com) messages me with designs for Afi Íþró and Grandfather Glanni and the next thing you know this fic is happening and this is just my life now. I think I’m cool with that!
> 
> Anyway, Glanni Glæpur is my new grandpa, I love him.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a hot air balloon flying into town, and Sportacus knows who’s in it, and he _hates everything._

Sportacus woke with the dawn, as usual, and took a moment to blink away the lingering surprise of being somewhere other than his airship. It wasn’t as if this was the first time, but after years of routine it was still strange to wake up in a dark room. Beside him, Robbie snored, properly asleep for _once_ in his life.

He dressed without turning the lights on, reasoning irritably that waking up at dawn could come _after_ Robbie started going to _bed_ at a decent hour, and wandered out of the secluded bedroom to snag an apple from the fruit bowl. He was the only reason there _was_ a fruit bowl; Robbie would have to start eating them by himself _eventually_ if they were always within sight. In any case, he kept having near-misses with that infernal _condensed milk_ stuff that Robbie kept putting in the refrigerator, and didn’t at all feel like risking a sugar meltdown when he was still waking up.

Next—morning calisthenics. The one thing Sportacus really liked about Robbie’s house was that it had a lot of space, as long as you kept an eye out for the occasional stray bolt or patch of engine grease on the floor. Jumping jacks, squats, push-ups, and then a few laps around the room and he felt as awake as ever, even in this strange dark underground house. Then up the pipe that led to the park, eating another apple as he climbed one-handed, and—

“Hey, Sportacus!” Ziggy loomed up in front of him as he began to surface. “What were you doing in Robbie’s house this early, huh? Is he ok? He’s not sick, is he?”

“No more than usual, I just spent the night,” he said, irritably. “That’s what adults do when they’re dating. Besides, if I _don’t_ stay the night then he’ll just start working on projects and he won’t sleep at all. What are _you_ doing up this early? You kids aren’t normally so enthusiastic to look at the sunrise.”

“We’re not looking at the sunrise.” Ziggy grinned. “We’re looking at the balloon!”

Sportacus went very still. “The what.”

“Up there! See?”

Sportacus looked up to where Ziggy was pointing, and there it was, a gold-and-orange hot air balloon drifting in the sky and looking very old-fashioned next to his _incredibly stylish_ black-and-red airship. His mouth went dry, and a terrible cold shiver crawled up his spine.

“We’ve never had a hot air balloon here before! What do you think it’s doing there, huh? Maybe it’s an _adventurer!_ ”

“Maybe it is.” Sportacus swallowed hard. “You know what, Ziggy, I just realized that I forgot my goggles on the kitchen table. I’ll be back soon.” He shifted his feet, loosened his grip, and slid down the ladder as fast as he could go.

Ziggy stared down the tube after him, frowning. “But Sportacus, you’re _wearing_ your goggles!”

* * *

 

“Wake up. _Wake up,_ you _slugabed,_ come on!”

Robbie rolled over and winced as his back popped. “Sportacus…?” he said, groggy. “What, what is it, I’m sleeping.”

Sportacus loomed over him, eyes and crystal both glowing unnervingly—or maybe his eyes were reflecting the crystal’s light, or maybe Robbie was still dreaming. “Get up, Rivet, it’s an emergency.”

“Eh?” Robbie yawned, and then really _looked_ at Sportacus and sat bolt upright. “Wait, it’s an actual emergency? What happened? Who’s hurt? Is it one of the kids? Oh, god, Stephanie climbed that tree again, didn’t she, she always wants to go too high, what did she break?”

“What? Stephanie’s fine. My _grandfather_ is here.”

“Your…what? Íþró? That grandfather?”

“I only _have_ one, Átta passed away when I was young.”

“Why is that an…wait. Wait.” A horrible realization began to dawn, somewhere in the back of Robbie’s skull. “He doesn’t have a baseball bat, does he? A hickory one, with an orange stripe? I _need_ my knees. They’re what keep my legs in one piece.”

“I don’t know, I haven’t seen him yet, just his balloon. Come on, get up, get dressed, if I have to deal with Afi Íþró I’m not going to do it by myself.”

“All right, all right.” Robbie pulled himself out of bed, every single one of his joints cracking as he moved, and started hunting around for his undersuit. “Just calm down, all right? I’m…I’m sure he just wanted to see how you were doing and everything’s going to be fine.”

* * *

 

Despite his speed in hauling Robbie out of bed, Sportacus didn’t see any signs of movement from the balloon until late morning, which was peculiar. His grandfather woke just as early as _he_ did; it was the one of those things that ran in the family, like excellent joint health and a fondness for backflips. If they’d been back _home,_ Íþró would have been up and about and making his life hell and scolding the children for not walking briskly enough before he’d have had time to say, “Please go away and leave me in peace.” Around eleven, though, just as Robbie was starting to get genuinely annoyed with him about being woken up so early, there was a flicker of movement, and the balloon began to lower, clearly aiming to land in the field on the edge of town where the tower was.

The kids shrieked with delight and went pelting across the grass towards the landing site, and Sportacus flipped after them, only slowly down at all so that Robbie could see where he was going, given that the mechanic’s top speed was a light jog, and even then he needed regular breaks.

By the time the balloon was only thirty feet away, the kids had gathered into a breathless crowd, and Sportacus was running in place, because if he stopped moving he’d have to think about the fact that his grandfather had decided to show up without even _warning_ him first. Robbie got there and stood panting as the high-sided gondola thumped down on the grass, clutching his chest. “Next time if you’re going to go so fast could you maybe _carry_ me or something? I can’t just _run_ like you can.”

“Sure, yes, fine, as long as it’s not an _emergency_ like—”

A small, cloth-wrapped package flew out of the gondola and landed with a wooden clatter, and an imperious voice from behind the woven wall said, “Tíu, would you make yourself _useful_ and tether us down, I’m not going to be happy if I have to deflate this thing.”

Sportacus tried not to gulp. There were people here who would _see_ if he did. “Yes, Afi!”

Robbie frowned. “Wait. Us? Who’s _us?_ ”

“Who knows, maybe he brought my father for an _extra_ dose of disappointment. Come on, we need to get the stakes in.”

The children scrambled to help, taking turns holding each stake as Sportacus pounded it into the ground, while Robbie followed behind and knotted each tether rope as securely as possible. There was rustling inside the gondola, and the clear sound of two voices, though neither spoke loudly enough to be identified. Apparently there was some kind of argument in progress.

Finally the balloon was securely tethered, and Sportacus shouted, “You’re all set, Afi!”

“ _Took_ you long enough.”

Robbie blinked and leaned forward, fascinated, as a section of the gondola wall creaked open. “I’ve never seen a hot air balloon with a door before.”

“Neither have I.” Sportacus frowned. “It…didn’t have that before.”

Íþróttaálfurinn stepped out of the gondola, looking as spry as ever. He’d abandoned his pointed hat, Sportacus saw; he had on a golf cap instead, and his golf bag, which was probably older than Sportacus, was slung over one shoulder. In the other hand he was carrying something _very_ large, possibly with the potential to be even larger, since it seemed to have been folded up. It was mostly pink.

Next to Sportacus’ elbow, Robbie suddenly said, “Oh dear.”

Íþró glanced around himself speculatively and then looked straight at the group of children. “Here, one of you come and hold my clubs. You, the pink one, you look like you know how to treat good sports equipment.”

Stephanie hurried forward and took the golf bag from him, beaming. “Yes, sir!”

Íþró’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “What a nice little girl you are. Thank you, my dear.” Then he hefted the pink thing in his other hand, unfolded it, and set it on the ground. It was an ornately-decorated wheelchair, of all things.

“Oh no,” Robbie breathed, sounding horrified. “Oh _no._ ”

Sportacus scowled. “What? What is it?”

“This is much worse than we thought.”

His grandfather had gone back into the gondola. He argued quietly with whoever else was inside for a moment—

_“You know damn well I can at least walk that far, elf.”_

_“You **can** , yes, but **you** know damn well that the step’s too high for you, I’m going to have a talk with that idiot Sindri about cutting it the **right** way next time. Now shut up and stop arguing with me, I’m not going to mother you if you break a hip.”_

_“Oh all **right,** but make it **snappy.** ”_

—and then came out with another man cradled in his arms. The other man was clearly much taller and lankier than Íþró, his feet brushing the edge of the gondola door, and he was wearing an extraordinarily large pink coat with an even _more_ extraordinary pink collar. There was a pink purse looped over his arm. Íþró carried him over to the wheelchair and set him down in it, and he immediately dug a butterscotch candy out of the purse and popped it into his mouth.

Finally Íþró looked past the children, his eyes narrowing. “Ah, yes, there’s my grandson. The cheater.”

The man in the wheelchair made a noise that was half growl and half disgusted snort. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Look at that there. My grandson, the _mechanic._ We raise him to be a world-class villain and he doesn’t even take _money_ to do repairs.”

Sportacus felt his eyes go wide, but he cleared his throat, because if he didn’t make introductions immediately his grandfather would never let him hear the end of it. “Ah. Afi Íþró, this is Robbie Rivet. And these are the kids—the one with your bag is Stephanie, and there’s Ziggy, Stingy, Trixie, and Pixel.”

The kids waved and shouted greetings, Ziggy hiding shyly behind Pixel’s legs.

“Kids. Robbie. This is…this is my grandfather, Íþróttaálfurinn.”

Íþró nodded in reply, shaking hands gravely with Stingy when Stingy stepped forward. “It’s good to finally meet you all.”

Robbie was making small choking noises. The man in the wheelchair looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Well? Are you just going to stand there looking like a pot of seized chocolate or are you going to introduce me?”

“Yes. Sorry. Grandfather, this is Sportacus—”

“The _tenth,_ ” Íþró interjected. “Although I see he’s gone to some effort to _hide_ that.”

“Ah, and these are the kids—”

“Yes, yes, I heard their names. Which one’s Trixie? That’s you, pigtails? You’re the one my daughter keeps sending new slingshots to?” The man in the wheelchair squinted at her and then nodded approvingly. “Glad to see _someone_ in this town’s up to no good. And I’m guessing the one with the headset there is the junior partner.”

Pixel and Trixie looked delighted. Robbie coughed nervously. “Yes, Grandfather. Sportacus, kids, this is…this is my grandfather. Glanni Glæpur.” Under his breath he added, “Gods help us all.”

* * *

 

“I can’t believe they’re staying at Bessie’s,” Robbie said dully, once he and Sportacus had finished unloading the gondola. “She’s going to tell them _everything._ ”

“ _I_ can’t believe they’re staying in the same _room._ ” Sportacus had his face buried in his hands. “Íþró hasn’t shared a bedroom with anyone since Amma Rikki died.”

“ _Nobody’s_ allowed in Glanni’s room. I’m not prepared for the idea that our grandfathers are old flames or something.”

Sportacus didn’t look up. “It’s much worse than that. Apparently they used to be mortal enemies.”

“Oh gods. That _is_ worse.” Robbie thought about it for a moment and shuddered. “In fact, now that you mention it, I think I’ve heard Glanni _talk_ about your grandfather. Never by name, but sometimes when he’d had too much to drink with dinner he’d start going on about an elf he used to get in fights with. For _hours_ he’d talk.” He paused for another moment of pondering. “I never did know my grandmother. They were only together long enough for her to have my mother, and then she handed her to Glanni and left.”

“That’s actually really sad.”

“I don’t know, generally he sounds pretty happy when it comes up, apparently they didn’t actually like each other very much apart from the…you know. He’s very into dynastic succession and not very into being around people he doesn’t have the patience for. Which is most of them.”

“Íþró _loves_ people. He’s just dead convinced that he knows what’s best for them better than they do.”

“I’m going to have to make Glanni dinner tonight. I don’t even know how to get him into my _house._ ”

Sportacus groaned. “I have to show my grandfather my _airship._ You know I _stole_ it, right? He’s going to critique my decorating skills and _then_ yell at me.”

* * *

 

“So,” Íþró said as he climbed up into the cabin of the airship. “I see you’ve painted your father’s airship _black._ ”


	2. Examinations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A variety of shovel speeches! None of which end up involving shovels, or being particularly embarrassing, although they're definitely terrifying.

Robbie emerged from his house to the sound of Íþró saying, “So your grandson lives in a hole in the ground.”

“It’s not a _hole,_ you judgmental _goblin._ It’s a _house._ ” Glanni coughed. “Very nice house, too. Well-situated. Lots of lying-around space.”

“Of _course_ you’d like a house with lots of space to lie around. And don’t call me a goblin, you reprobate.”

_“Pixie.”_

_“Boogeyman.”_

Robbie just stared blearily at the two old men as they glared at each other and then burst into a fit of laughter, Íþró’s unexpectedly restrained chuckling and Glanni’s familiar wheezy old-man cackle combining to make a sound that chilled his heart. He was tempted to just fold his arms on the grass, put his head down, and go back to sleep right there.

Except that a hand grabbed his collar and hauled him up the rest of the way, and Sportacus hissed in his ear, “ _Look,_ nerd, I’ve been up for four hours already, they’ve been out here for at least two, if _I_ have to deal with them, _you_ do too.”

“Sportacus, I’m not awake enough for this.”

“If we’re going to start waiting for you to be _awake_ enough for things we’ll never get _anything_ done.” Sportacus closed the hatch and stood on the handle.

“But…” Robbie frowned. “Do you have a _bruise?_ Look, I know he’s your grandfather but he can’t just _hit_ —”

Sportacus scowled. “You think I’d _let_ him?” And then, much more quietly, he muttered, “Message tube hit me in the face. I was distracted.”

“What could distract you that much?”

“Trying to plot a course for the North Pole. Figured I’d grab you and we’d have a nice week or two by ourselves. No kids, no _grandfathers—_ ”

“Ok, for one, you think I’m letting you fly me all the way to the North Pole in that thing? Two, I’m not leaving my grandfather around the kids without supervision, they’re enough of a mob already without leaving them with an _actual_ retired mob boss. Three, I’m fairly sure your grandfather would _chase_ us, and he’s scary enough already.”

“What are you two whispering about over there?” Glanni had pulled a collapsible cane out of his purse and extended it just so he could thump it on the ground. “I won’t have you coming up with any diabolical plots that I’m not a part of.”

“There won’t be any diabolical plots at _all_ if I have anything to say about it.” Íþró was doing squats. _Squats._ Robbie was still only barely awake and couldn’t move an inch without at least one joint making some kind of popping sound and this elf several decades his senior was just doing squats in the park like it was nothing. “Where are those children? It’s a beautiful day out, they ought to be outside in the fresh air.”

Robbie shook himself and cracked his neck, hoping that it would help him wake up a bit. “It’s a school day, Mr…uh…sir. They’ve been there since nine-thirty. It’s, um, _Sports what time is it._ ”

_“Half-past eleven. **Sports?** ”_

“It’s only half past eleven right now, they won’t be out for another two hours.”

Íþró frowned. “That seems like a _very_ short school day.”

“Well, it’s a very small town, the five of them are the only students. Most of the teachers are only by once a week, they come over from other districts. In fact I go in myself on Thursdays and Fridays to do arts and science lessons.”

“Hmph.” Íþró looked unimpressed. “Well, then. You and my grandson will have plenty of time to give us a tour. After we’ve had lunch, of course. When was the last time you ate something with _protein_ in it? Tíu, when was the last time your scrawny boy had a real lunch? He looks positively _anæmic._ Might pass out any second now.”

Glanni swatted Íþró in the shins with his cane. “Don’t you talk about him like that, you healthy nightmare. He’s a good boy. He’s sensitive.”

Íþró swatted him on the shoulder in return, although it didn’t seem to have any real weight behind it. “Sensitive like a _rotten tooth._ ”

“Of course, he’s _my_ grandson, isn’t he?” Glanni let out another wheezy laugh.

“In my day I would have had him running laps around this park until he looked a bit more human.”

“If we were back in _your_ day then I’d still be kicking your—”

_“Grandfather.”_ Robbie pinched the bridge of his nose, wishing desperately that he’d dreamed everything from Sportacus waking him up in a panic onwards. “Let’s all go have lunch. _Please._ We’ll go to the restaurant Ziggy’s mother works at, she does a wonderful chocolate mousse. _And_ I’m told there are some very good healthy and vegetarian options, sir, please don’t yell at me.”

* * *

 

First there had been the conversation about the new paint job on the airship. Then there was the conversation about _stealing_ the airship, which had gotten very loud on both sides and only ended when Íþró returned to Ms. Busybody’s house and the shared room that Sportacus preferred not to contemplate. Of course, he’d started back up again five minutes after seeing Sportacus that morning, skipping past any further discussion of the airship to criticize:

  * his hair (which was too long)
  * his clothes (which were too flashy and not in proper colors for _either_ side of the family)
  * his _facial_ hair (“what on _earth_ is that on your _chin?_ ”)
  * the _insignia_ on his clothes (which disrespected his heritage)
  * his collar and bracers (which were both tacky _and_ dangerous)
  * his crystal (“what have you been _doing_ to the poor thing?”)
  * his scar (actually that hadn’t been criticism, but only because he’d been too aghast to speak)



and basically every other aspect of Sportacus’ life. So far the only thing he _hadn’t_ scolded Sportacus about was Robbie, because he didn’t quite seem to know what to _make_ of Robbie.

The sound of the kids getting out of school was a glorious relief, because it diverted his attention. Íþró genuinely _liked_ children. He wanted them to be happy. They were the perfect distraction.

Sportacus sat down on the bench that Robbie normally liked to sleep on, tapping his feet just to keep from being too still, and tried to figure out whether he could convince his grandfather to go do something better with his time. Maybe he’d be interested in climbing Mount Everest. Or going over Niagara Falls in a barrel. Something fun. Something that would take him far away from where Sportacus wanted to be.

“He’s dreadful, isn’t he?”

Sportacus bristled. How had Glanni managed to _sneak up_ on him in that gaudy wheelchair? “When did _you_ get here?”

Glanni grinned cheerfully and then pulled another of his endless supply of butterscotch candies out of his purse and started sucking on it. He was wearing an absurdly large pink hat that cast a shadow over his whole face, and his teeth were eerily white. _Especially_ for someone who ate so much sugar. “Old man’s still got it. You _sports_ types wouldn’t know subtlety if it dropped a cage on you.”

“What do you _want,_ Glæpur?”

“Ooh, you _do_ think you’re tough. You sound just like he did back in the old days.” Glanni peered at him. “I _like_ you. Íþróttaálfurinn’s always been a goody-goody. You seem much more fun. Better fashion sense, too.”

Sportacus almost relaxed. “You’re trying to get me to do something, aren’t you.”

“What, can’t an old man show some interest in his grandson’s…whatever you are? Besides, anyone who makes Íþró that angry is someone I’d like to know. It’s nice seeing the elf get a little shaken up.”

“…you know I’m also an elf, right?”

“True, true, but you know, I think I’m willing to forgive you for that.” Glanni actually reached out and patted his cheek with long, spidery fingers. “You remind me of me when _I_ was young. Got that look in your eye.” Before Sportacus could even _think_ of a reply to that, though, the old man had turned away, was looking past him with a _lighter_ smile on his face and saying, “Why, _hello,_ my dear.”

Stephanie was standing in front of them, patient and polite, breaking into a smile as soon as Glanni looked at her. “Hi, Mr. Glæpur!”

“You’re Stephanie, yes?” Glanni seemed genuinely pleased that she’d come over to say hello. “My grandson’s told me about you in his letters, he said you love to dance.”

She nodded, thrilled.

“You remind me of another little girl I knew once, many years ago, although she wasn’t nearly as polite as you are. And rather taller, although I suspect that’ll come to you in time. Was there something you wanted?”

Sportacus was entranced. It was like Glanni had turned into an entirely different person. Stephanie looked at him the way she looked at her uncle when he’d done something particularly silly, not like he was a vaguely demonic old criminal. “I just wanted to say that I really like your hat.”

“ _Do_ you! Well, thank you, Stephanie. Pink is my favorite color, and it looks like it’s yours too.” He lifted the enormous hat off his head and held it out to her. “Why don’t you try it on. And call me Grandpa, dear.”

* * *

 

Robbie leaned against a tree, panting.

He was going to die. Íþró was going to kill him. It probably wasn’t even _intentional;_ Íþró just _never stopped going._ He wasn’t a man, he was a perpetual motion machine. He ran, he jogged, he back-flipped everywhere, he was an entire soccer team by himself against all five children and Robbie was going to have a heart attack trying to keep up. It wasn’t actually _distrust_ , it was just that after all this time spent trying (and often failing) to keep Sportacus from doing damage to either the kids or the town, it was hard not to see Íþró as a threat.

Despite himself, though, Robbie found that he sort of liked Íþró. Underneath the backflips and testosterone and constant criticism was a sincerity so powerful that you could almost smell it. He wasn’t just playing soccer with the kids to _make_ them exercise, he was actually having fun. Robbie wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Sportacus just _enjoy_ himself with such vigor; everything had to be a competition or an opportunity for ego-stroking.

But then, of course, there was also that baseball bat. Hickory, orange stripe. Robbie hadn’t _seen_ it when they were unloading the gondola, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t around _somewhere._

He _liked_ having knees.

“You ought to start doing cardio.”

He looked up, alarmed.

“You’re very winded for such a short time out.” Íþró squinted up at him, frowning. “Going to give yourself health problems. When was the last time you had your blood pressure checked?”

“I haven’t seen a doctor since I was fifteen…wait, no, that’s not right, I saw a dentist once when I was twenty.”

Íþró looked aghast. “I’m not even going to _ask_ how old you are, clearly it’s been far too long. Although your teeth do look surprisingly healthy for someone with a diet like yours.”

“That’s because most of them are fake.” Robbie grimaced and tapped on one of his front teeth, just to demonstrate. “Machine I was working on blew up in my face. Homemade rocket fuel is very dangerous. That’s why I had to go to the dentist.”

“All you ate at lunch was chocolate mousse.”

“All Grandfather and I had for dinner last night was cake, what’s your point?”

“Young man.” Íþró reached up, got a firm grip on the collar of Robbie’s jacket, and pulled him down to eye level. “This may have escaped you, but I am _genuinely_ concerned for your health. You’ve _seen_ the state Glanni’s in, yes? And it doesn’t compel you to _exercise_ at all?”

Robbie covered his mouth to keep himself from yawning directly into the old man’s face, because if anything he didn’t want to be _actually_ _rude._ “Not especially. I mean, with all due respect, sir, I don’t actually _enjoy_ that sort of thing. I like making things and fixing things, not running around all over the place. And quite frankly, if the _kids_ spent as much time running around outside as you and Sportacus seem to think they should, they wouldn’t _learn_ anything else.”

Íþró peered at him for a moment and then let out an abrupt bark of laugh and let go of his jacket. “Well, you’ve got the courage of your convictions, at least.” His pat on the shoulder was almost certainly intended to be friendly, but it almost knocked Robbie over. “I wish Tíu took things half as seriously as you do.”

“I think he takes plenty of things seriously, he just doesn’t care about everything _you_ care about.” Robbie thought about it for a moment. “Like safety precautions and basic courtesy and fairness. He is _really_ exhausting to be around.”

“Hmph. That doesn’t seem to have stopped you from being his…whatever you are.”

“Well, running him out of town didn’t work, and you have no _idea_ how many different things I tried. And I do actually like him about seventy-five percent of the time. When he’s not breaking my things, or _other_ people’s things, or endangering the children, or endangering _himself_ …I like him at least fifty percent of the time. Anyway, _he_ seems to like _me._ I can’t imagine why, but there it is. Also I feel like he might get himself killed if I’m not around to watch him, which is a _really_ upsetting thought, now that I say it.”

Íþró had taken a step back, and was looking up at him contemplatively. He didn’t say anything.

Robbie shifted nervously, wincing as his back popped. “Look, he’s very tiring and he makes me extremely angry, but I care about him a lot.”

Íþró nodded. “I see.”

There was, very suddenly, the sound of shattering glass, followed by a familiar wheezy cackle, a burst of equally familiar raucous laughter, and several startled shouts of, “I didn’t do it!”

All thoughts of self-justification, and most of the thoughts of hickory baseball bats, fled from Robbie’s mind. “If you’ll excuse me, sir, I need to go take care of that.” And he ducked around the tree and ran for the source of the noise.


	3. Bad Influence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it worse if your grandfather _hates_ your boyfriend or if he likes your boyfriend and can't stand _you?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, Glanni, _why are you like this._

“So, young lady.” Glanni leaned forward in his chair. “I hear you’re very clever, would you like to learn a magic trick?”

Trixie was scrambling over in a heartbeat, looking fascinated as the old man dug in his purse. “Sure! I love magic tricks!”

“Good, good. You too, with the bow-tie, I think you’d like this trick, it’s about money.”

Stingy looked up with a start. “A magic trick? About _money?_ ”

“Yes, exactly. A magic trick about money.” A little more rummaging, and Glanni pulled out a pair of dice. “It uses these, it’s very simple.”

The kids peered at the dice, fascinated, and Trixie said, “Those don’t look like the ones that come with board games.”

Glanni grinned. “That’s because _these_ are the kind of dice you use at a _casino._ ”

Just as he was starting to explain the trick, a hand came down on his shoulder, and Íþró said, “ _Stop_ that.”

Glanni batted the hand away. “Leave me alone, folklore, I’m trying to educate the children.”

“I can’t leave you alone for ten _seconds,_ you awful old urban legend.”

“Just like the old days, you never could then either.”

“Of course not, you’d have been out terrorizing the countryside and worrying the sheep.”

Stingy frowned. “He was just trying to show us a magic trick about money. I wanted to _see_ it.”

“I’ll show you later, when _this_ old spoilsport isn’t around to interrupt me.” The casino dice vanished into Glanni’s sleeve, and he produced a bag of hard candies instead and held them out. “Here, my dears, have a sweet.”

“Ohhhhhh.” Trixie’s eyes had gone wide. “How did you just make those _show up_ like that? How did you make the _dice_ disappear?”

Íþró sighed. “Glanni—wait, why is young Stephanie wearing your jacket and hat?” He squinted at Stephanie, who was nearby playing a complicated game of Secret Agents with Ziggy and Pixel and strutting around with the furry pink collar of the jacket pulled up around her face, pretending to be rich.

“She’s a nice girl, she likes pink.” Glanni hummed cheerfully, tossing the bag of sweets to his other hand so that Íþró couldn’t reach it before Trixie and Stingy had gotten some. “Later I’ve promised I’ll tell her a bit about high stakes cat-burglary, she seems to be very interested in acrobatics.”

“You certainly will _not._ ” Íþró strode over to where Stephanie and the others were playing, and he could be heard saying, “Has my grandson ever actually _shown_ you children how to do a flip? Would you like to learn?”

* * *

 

Luckily, the baseball had only broken one pane of the Town Hall window. It was on the top row, so whoever had thrown it had gotten some impressive height, but it could have been much worse. Robbie sighed, retrieved the repair kit that Milford had let him stash in one of the file rooms, and got to work removing the last few shards of glass that clung to the frame. He had replacement panes, five or seven of them, already cut to fit, but he hadn’t had to use one in a couple of months. It had probably been foolish to think that maybe he didn’t need them anymore.

The new pane went in. The shards of glass were safely wrapped up and discarded of where they couldn’t hurt anyone. The baseball had rolled to a stop under a table; it wasn’t the one Sportacus liked, with the spikes, which meant that _anyone_ could have thrown it. He crawled under the table, retrieved the ball, and seriously considered just taking a nap right there. The carpet was very soft. Nobody would miss him for a few more minutes.

“Hey, loser.” There was a gentle tug at his ankle. “You can’t just sleep under the table, it’s bad for your back.”

“Everything is bad for my back. _Life_ is bad for my back.” He rolled over and held up the baseball. “You didn’t throw this, did you? I heard you laughing. I thought you said you’d stop breaking windows.”

Sportacus looked wounded. “I _did_ stop breaking windows. I never promised to stop thinking it was funny. Anyway, I think Ziggy threw it, kid’s gonna be a star pitcher if he ever stops eating so many lollipops. Pretty sure he didn’t mean to break the window, though. He might need glasses. You oughtta talk to Zelda.”

“ _You_ could talk to her, you _are_ actually capable of behaving like a responsible adult sometimes.”

“I could, but she doesn’t _like_ me. Can’t imagine why. She _does_ like you, she brought you extra goop at lunch.”

“It wasn’t goop, it was chocolate mousse, and hers is very good.”

“Anyway.” Sportacus grabbed his ankles, pulled him out from under the table, and picked him up bodily from the floor. “If you’re going to sleep, you’re not going to do it in here.”

“Right. Of course.” Robbie wasn’t sure when Sportacus picking him up and carrying him around had started being a thing; he supposed the elf had just gotten a taste for it after fishing him out of the pond. It _did_ mean that he didn’t have to walk as much, at least. “Where are the kids?”

“Left them with Afi and Glanni. Your grandfather’s not so bad, you know, I think when I left he was teaching Trixie and Stingy a magic trick.” A pause. “Rivet, you’ve gone really still, did you pass out?”

Robbie’s forehead thumped into the small of Sportacus’ back. “A magic trick. Grandfather is showing them a magic trick. Of course he is. Did he get out a deck of cards? Slightly too big, purple backs?”

“No?” Robbie could _hear_ him frowning. “Pair of casino dice.”

“Oh, _no._ ”

* * *

 

The first thing Sportacus noticed when he emerged from Town Hall was a repetitive _whoosh-whoosh-whoosh_ sound. He rolled his eyes. “Showoff.”

“You’re one to talk,” Robbie said into his back.

“Why wouldn’t I be? I _am_ a show-off. At least I _admit_ it. _I_ can’t help being better than everyone else.”

“I don’t think your grandfather’s actually trying to show off, though.” Robbie tapped on his hip and then pointed across the square. “See, look, he’s stopped.”

Íþró _had_ stopped doing flips, at least momentarily; he was crouched next to Ziggy, steadying the little boy as he tried to do a cartwheel. Stephanie had already gotten the hang of front flips, at least, and was bouncing around the square while Pixel tumbled joyfully after her.

“And…oh good, yes, Grandfather _did_ get the cards out. He’s taught Trixie how to play three-card monte. Yes, this is fine, this is excellent. Sportacus, please put me down.”

Sportacus set him down, barely paying attention. “He’s doing this just to make me look bad, you know.” _Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh_ again. “He doesn’t approve of me. He’s never approved of me.”

Robbie brushed himself off. “Well, at least you exercise. I’m afraid he’s going to try to put me in some kind of hamster wheel just to force me to get _fit._ ”

“It’d be good for you.”

“Oh, don’t start—Grandfather, what are you _doing?_ Sportacus, Íþró’s going to break a hip. It might be one of Glanni’s hips. What’s he _doing?_ ”

Glanni had unfolded his cane, gotten out of his wheelchair, and hobbled over to the edge of the square, leaving Stingy and Trixie to argue over the deck of cards. He stood at the edge of the stones and scowled. “Will you _stop_ that? I swear, it’s disgusting. I could be on my deathbed and you’d still be flipping and flapping and flopping all over the place like some kind of March hare.”

Íþró did a lengthy spin in mid-air and landed directly in front of him. “What on earth are you doing stomping around? You’re going to injure yourself, sit back down.”

“I will if _you_ will, all your bouncing about is making me nauseous.”

“I’ll sit down if you stop talking, the sugar on your breath is dizzying.” Íþró wrapped an arm around Glanni’s shoulders, walked him back over to his wheelchair, and then sat down next to him. “You smell like someone lit a bakery on fire.”

“Bad enough you’re _taller_ than me when I’m in this thing,” Glanni muttered. “Where’s the justice in that?” He leaned on Íþró’s shoulder and promptly fell asleep.

Íþró glanced down at him. His mustache twitched, as if he was trying not to smile. “Point to you, old devil.”

Glanni roused himself long enough to mutter, “You’re damn right it is,” before returning to his thunderous snoring.

Sportacus sat down on the bench next to his grandfather while Robbie tried to retrieve the deck of cards from Trixie and Stingy. “Look, Afi, can I ask you a question?”

Any hint of a smile disappeared from Íþró’s face. “What is it, Tíu?”

 _Could you **please** go home?_ “So. You’re…sharing a room with him.”

“Of course I am, he needs help changing. Has trouble with his socks. Have you really never tried to _teach_ those children how to do a basic somersault? What have you been _doing_ with your time if you’re not teaching them things? Robbie does. Doesn’t teach anything _interesting,_ of course, but he makes an effort.”

Sportacus gritted his teeth and tried to focus on what he _wanted_ to say. “Look, you’re not…you’re not…you’ve got separate beds, right?”

Íþró squinted at him for a moment and then swatted him on the back of the head. “What sort of a question is that to ask your grandfather? And of course not, you think I’d disrespect your grandmother’s memory like that?”

“Right, of course. Sorry, Afi.”

Nearby, Robbie made a startled noise that resolved into, “I’m _glad_ you like him, Pixel, but that doesn’t mean you should listen to everything he says. Why do you _want_ to make an EMP device?”

“Now, if I were sixty years younger…” Íþró shook himself, although not hard enough to wake Glanni up. “But _that_ is none of your business, young man. What _I_ want to know is, why haven’t you brought your scrawny boy home to meet Níu and your mother? Stop drooling on me,” he added, in the vague direction of Glanni’s hair, “I know you’re doing it on purpose.”

Glanni snorted, muttered something indistinct, and did not stop drooling.

“Actually, you just call him over here, I’ll invite him myself, your mother will love him. And we’ll all have dinner together tonight, the poor boy’s going to waste away if you keep letting him eat nothing but garbage. The both of you ought to come golfing with me and the old devil tomorrow, you ought to start getting some practice in on _not_ cheating.”

Sportacus pinched the bridge of his nose, suppressed a groan, and then shouted, “Hey, nerd!”

 _Swat_ again, squarely on his ear.

“ _Ow,_ what was _that_ for?”

“Don’t talk to your boyfriend like that.”

* * *

 

“ _You_ two,” said Glanni in the middle of dinner, “need to have children immediately.”

Sportacus choked on his mouthful of water. Robbie felt as if he’d frozen solid. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You and him. Children. As soon as possible. You’ve got plenty of space in that house of yours for a few little gremlins, you’re already plenty good at looking after them.” Glanni sipped his wine, a faraway look in his eyes. “I like him, he’s got a good head on his shoulders for an elf.”

Even Íþró was too startled to speak. His hand had stopped halfway to his mouth; the piece of broccoli he’d speared looked as if it was in serious danger of falling off.

“Grandfather.” Robbie’s face felt hot. He was going to die. He knew it. He could feel it coming on, the inevitable march of doom. At least they were in a secluded corner of the restaurant where his death wouldn’t cause too much comment. “Even setting aside the fact that we’ve only been…this…for two months, aren’t you seeing some _logistical_ problems here?”

Glanni let out a wheezy little laugh. “You’re clever, you’ll figure something out. Probably build some kind of machine for it. Someone with your brains and your elf boy’s…well, his _everything_ could grow up to be a villain like the world’s _never_ seen before.” He lifted his napkin and actually dabbed at his eyes. “It would be beautiful. Someone I could teach everything I know.”

“…Grandfather, you taught _me_ everything you know and it was awful. You locked me in a box when I was five so I could learn how to break out of jail.”

“See, yes, _exactly,_ and now you can break out of any jail in the world! Not that you do anything that’d get you _put_ in jail, which is _not_ how your parents and I raised you.” Glanni growled, very quietly. “Never thought I’d see a Glæpur who didn’t even cheat on his taxes. Anyway, I’d like to be a great-grandfather.”

“Ah…” Íþró had managed to get the broccoli back to his plate before it tried to get there by itself. “Dinner might not be the best time for this discussion, old man.”

“And there goes the _nature spirit,_ ruining all my fun. You just try me, I could still give you a good run around town if I felt like it.”

Íþró’s mustache twitched. “I’d like to see you try, _scarecrow._ ”

“ _Scarecrow,_ he says! The little brownie’s insecure about his _height._ ”

“Says the man who used to wear four-inch heels.”

Robbie caught Sportacus’ glance and wondered if he’d be able to sink through the floor without undue trouble. “He did. He tried to make me wear them once. I sprained my ankle and nearly gave myself a concussion. Can we _please_ discuss something other than my theoretical children?”

* * *

 

“Come on, Old Scratch,” Íþró said as the four of them left the restaurant. “High time we both got some sleep. Don’t want to miss out on good daylight tomorrow when we’re on the links.”

“Don’t you patronize me, you sainted idiot, I’ll run over your toes.” Glanni stifled a yawn in his sleeve.

Íþró ignored him. “Tíu, get over here.”

Sportacus did as he was told, quietly bracing himself for whatever his grandfather was going to yell at him about now. “What is it, Afi?”

Íþró hugged him one-armed. It was genuinely alarming. “It’s good to see you, boy. You ought to visit home more often.”

“Um.” Sportacus blinked. “It’s good to see you too, Afi.”

There was a pause, and then Íþró leaned in close and murmured, “I like your scrawny boy. He’s a good boy. He tries very hard. And you’ve broken a lot of things that were fixable, but so help me, Tíu, if you break that little weed’s heart, I will _end_ you.” He patted Sportacus’ back heavily. “Sleep well, Tíu. We’ll see you and Robbie tomorrow for golf.”

Robbie had been crouching next to Glanni’s chair, looking simultaneously fond and unnerved as he spoke quietly with his grandfather. All Sportacus caught was, “Grandfather, I’m _really_ not ready to have children of my own,” before he straightened up, hugged Glanni, and stepped away. “Get some sleep, we’ll see you in the morning.”

Sportacus watched Íþró walk away pushing Glanni’s chair as they argued genially and shuddered. “My grandfather’s going to kill me.”

“I don’t know about that, I like him.”

“Just try getting to know him, you’ll learn.”

“Come back to the house with me.” Robbie’s hand slipped into his—dry skin, chipped nails, an uncountable number of tiny nicks and scars, but somehow very comforting. “I can’t go to sleep right away, Grandfather dragooned me into making him something that’ll let him golf from his chair since he can’t stand steadily enough to swing, but it’d be nice having you there.”

Sportacus glanced up at him and smirked. “Sure, but you have to eat an apple.”

“ _Uuuugh,_ fine. Just don’t tell Glanni, he’ll never let me hear the end of it—wait, what, why are you picking me up, you already picked me up once today.”

“I like picking you up.” Sportacus headed for the nearest entry hatch, pulled it open, and readjusted his grip so Robbie wouldn’t hit his head. “You know, I really like your grandfather.”

“Of _course_ you do,” Robbie said to the small of his back. “Why _wouldn’t_ you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For that matter, Íþró, why are _you_ like this? He has a _name,_ you can call him something other than "scrawny boy."

**Author's Note:**

> Share, enjoy, and please leave me a comment if you enjoyed the story! (And if you have any questions about names, feel free to ask.)
> 
> I'm marking this complete for now because it _feels_ complete, but who knows, I love the grandpas.


End file.
